


falling all in you

by transit (dollyeo)



Series: Actor/Manager AU [5]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-12 21:33:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18018857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollyeo/pseuds/transit
Summary: "Sometimes I think about all the people you met back then, and how you could have been something with them instead of me. And then I start feeling like I missed out on so many things about you that I could have had if we weren't so slow about everything."or: 5 people Soonyoung could have ended up with (and one Soonyoung did).





	1. the sunbae from university

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sysupportgroup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sysupportgroup/gifts).



“No,” says Jihoon.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Soonyoung asks, brows furrowed. “I already told Seungcheol-oppa—”

“No means no,” says Jihoon, loudly, in case his voice gets muted out by the noise of the seven PM crowd. He can already feel his head pounding, and they haven’t even started drinking yet. If Seungcheol were here, they’d already be on their third shot, but Soonyoung has no tolerance and—oh god. He steals a glance at her belly, feeling his insides churn and his skin crawl. _What if_?

“Stop that,” says Soonyoung, scowling at him as she throws a piece of charred meat at him. “I can hear the gears in your brain working and I don’t like it.”

“But—” He tries to get the words out. Fails. “Are you—?”

“ _No_ ,” she insists, then looks the slightest bit unsure as she unlocks her phone screen. “Wait, lemme check—”

Jihoon closes his eyes, trying to ignore the mental images flashing through his (cursed) imagination. It’s bad enough he knows Soonyoung is definitely sleeping with someone, but it’s worse now that he knows it’s _Seungcheol_. When he’d introduced them in sophomore year, he’d figured Soonyoung’s inability to string together coherent words around Seungcheol’s handsome face would be enough to doom any of Soonyoung’s hopes and dreams of getting a hot, older boyfriend with a car before she graduated from uni, but Seungcheol had found her funny and—well— apparently cute enough to ask her to go out with him and ask her to live with him now that he had that big-name job at that famous broadcasting station. “Clearly, the next step is marriage,” Soonyoung had said as she gushed about it, much to Jihoon’s immense dismay. “If he decides to pop the question, do you think you can be the best man?”

“Ha!” She exclaims, triumphantly waving the period tracker app on her phone screen to his face. “I’m safe!”

“Congrats on wearing protection,” says Jihoon, drily. He certainly pities any future progeny Soonyoung and Seungcheol would both bear. Those two know nothing about upholding household chores. _Nothing_. “Though I’m not sure how you’ve managed to live like this until now…”

“Just for that, you’re demoted to flower girl,” says Soonyoung, right as Seungcheol ducks into the restaurant and waves at Jihoon.

“Who’s the flower girl?” Seungcheol pipes up from behind Soonyoung, arm curling around her neck as he bends to press a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth. Soonyoung laughs, and Jihoon averts his eyes as she turns her head to kiss him hello, deeper this time. He’ll never get used to it, he thinks.

“Not me,” says Jihoon, deadpan, as he takes another sip from his glass of (now lukewarm) beer.

“Oh?” Seungcheol asks, sounding amused. “Who’s getting married?”

“Apparently, you are,” says Jihoon.

“Ah,” says Seungcheol. He takes the seat beside Soonyoung, bracing his arm around the back of her chair as she puts her hand over his knee, proprietary as ever. “Have you told him about our offer yet?”

“Yeah,” says Soonyoung, pouting. “He said no.”

“Really?” Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at him. “Why? Don’t you wanna live with us?”

“ _No_ ,” says Jihoon, injecting as much force in it as he can. “I’m not gonna pay rent to be the third-wheel while you have sex in every space in the apartment, you jerk.”

“We’re not that bad,” Soonyoung protests.

Jihoon levels a disappointed look at both of them. He’d caught them on his sofa with Soonyoung’s hand down Seungcheol’s pants and her shorts dangling from her ankle the one time he’d asked them to house-sit for him, and so far they’ve been banned from ever being left alone in any of Jihoon’s private spaces. _Any_ of them.

“Okay, so maybe we _are_ that bad,” says Soonyoung, when Jihoon reminds them of this. “In our defense, we didn’t know you were coming back a day early.”

“That’s not helping your case.”

“Would it help if I whined about it to your mom?” Soonyoung challenges.

“Try it,” Jihoon dares her. “I bet you haven’t even told your dad about your boyfriend.”

“He knows who oppa is,” Soonyoung insists, ignoring Seungcheol’s plaintive _I’m right here_! “He hasn’t tried to kill him yet.”

“But does he know you haven’t been a virgin since before you went home for Chuseok when we were freshmen?”

“No,” says Soonyoung. “And he better not find out from _you_ , or else—”

“You haven’t told your parents about me?” Seungcheol butts in, eyes wide.

Soonyoung looks conflicted. “Well, not exactly—”

“Her mom still thinks we’re dating,” says Jihoon, sighing. “She’s been using me as a scapegoat all this time.”

“So you were planning on using Jihoon as an excuse to move in with me?” Seungcheol asks.

“Kinda?” Soonyoung hedges. “Look, it’ll be harder to explain to my dad why I’m living with someone other than Jihoon or my sister, okay? I’m doing this to preserve your life _and mine_.”

“But you’ve met my parents already,” says Seungcheol, limpid expression making Jihoon want to barf a little in my mouth. “When will you tell yours about me?”

“Believe me, I’d want nothing more than to shove it in my sister’s face, but my family’s kinda crazy,” says Soonyoung. “Let’s cross that bridge when we’re, like, in our thirties or something, okay?”

“ _If_ you even last that long,” Jihoon mutters under his breath, and gets kicked under the table by both Soonyoung and Seungcheol like the five-year-old brats they both are.

*

They end up getting married on a whim five years later during a backpacking trip across Europe, where none of them speak fluent _anything_ but still manage to rope a civil registrar into marrying them off. Jihoon gets the news in their groupchat twelve hours later, presumably after they’ve consummated their marriage rites and found stable Wi-Fi enough to catch him up. Miraculously, both of them are sober when he calls, and while none of his co-workers ever believe him when he tells them PD Choi would ever do something so reckless without alcohol in his lungs, it’s the truth— he’s got the pictures to prove it, after all.

“I never pegged PD-nim to have a wild streak,” says Jeon Wonwoo as he watches Kim Mingyu thumb through Jihoon’s phone. “It’s very uncharacteristic of him.”

“Is this his wife?” Mingyu gushes. “She looks cute. Doesn’t she, Wonwoo-hyung?”

Wonwoo doesn’t even look at the phone screen, content to close his eyes and let Jihoon apply his mascara in peace. “You’re only saying that to get on his good side.”

Mingyu shrugs, putting Jihoon’s phone back on the table. “Your loss, not mine.”

“Not really,” says Wonwoo. “But Jihoon-sshi would know better than me.”

“She’s not half-bad,” says Jihoon, feeling awkward and vaguely unsettled, like his pride’s been hurt; any other day, he’d call Soonyoung a hag to her face, but hearing someone else say it lightly stings a bit. Best not to tell Seungcheol about it—Wonwoo’s always been a little unsociable on a bad day as it is.

“If you say so,” says Wonwoo, though he doesn’t sound convinced in the least.

It’s fine—it’ll be something to laugh about with Soonyoung later, when he and Seungcheol talk shit about all the bratty talents they have to work with. What Jeon Wonwoo doesn’t know won’t hurt him.


	2. the cute junior from the dance org

Soonyoung’s late.

It’s not unusual—ever since senior year started and she’d gotten stuck with org duties on top of her regular load, Youngwon’s gotten used to his sister being late for _everything_. “At least she hasn’t forgotten this time,” Changjo, Minkyung’s long-time boyfriend, consoles her, patting her knee even as Minkyung stews over the only missing person in their dinner party of four. “We can get appetizers and order for her so she can eat by the time she gets here.”

“We’re _not_ paying for her,” Minkyung grumbles. “I can’t _believe_ she’d pick now out of all days to be horribly late!”

“We’re in no hurry,” says Changjo, placid as ever in the face of Minkyung’s short temper. “We can wait.”

“But—”

Changjo distracts her with the dessert menu, winking at Youngwon conspiratorially as he passes him the alcohol instead. Youngwon appreciates not being treated like a kid, at least, not like how Minkyung and Soonyoung are around him when it’s just the three of them together. If nothing else, Youngwon hopes the ring on Minkyung’s finger isn’t a fluke or anything— he’ll just pretend to be terribly shocked and excited when Minkyung finally makes the announcement and lords it over Soonyoung.

Youngwon doesn’t really get it. For one thing, it’s not like Soonyoung’s been seeing anyone, so it’s out of the realm of possibility for her to even get married faster than Minkyung barring a drunken scandal or an ill-timed decision. Then again, they’d always been weirdly competitive about everything, from crushes on boys to favorite boy band members, up to and including the color choices of matching clothes and dolls. It’s a long-running joke, how the Kwon sisters are bad at sharing anything, and that Youngwon’s the long-suffering youngest forced to endure everything.

Some days, Youngwon’s glad he doesn’t have to put up with their craziness anymore now that Minkyung’s living with Changjo and Soonyoung’s been staying at a dorm in uni. The house _has_ been a lot quieter without them around. Other days, though, it doesn’t pay to be alone; it’s not so much fun to not annoy them at every turn on their group chat as it is in person.

Right now, though, he’s not looking forward to Minkyung eventually breaking the news to their parents and the subsequent meetings and reunions with each other’s families, up to and including distant cousins. If Minkyung’s going to be absolutely _crazy_ in the days leading up to her wedding, he can’t imagine how Soonyoung would get later on, trying to outdo her— _if_ Soonyoung doesn’t end up a crazy cat lady in the future instead, though. God. His sisters are so annoying.

They’re close to finishing their plates piled high with flatbread and onion rings when Soonyoung finally deigns to show her presence, and Youngwon would make a quip about it if she’d only come alone. As it is, she has a long-suffering junior trailing behind her and bowing his head to all of them in greeting— Lee Chan, Youngwon remembers from when she’d introduced them, pink-faced and sweaty, after he’d escorted her to the ER from a practice session gone wrong; part of Youngwon regrets not being able to take a picture of the princess carry Soonyoung had been in just to make fun of her for it, but the sight of her swollen ankle dangling precariously mid-air had made his hackles rise on edge instead, the stiff “thank you” that escaped his mouth awkward and stilted. Maybe there had been a reason _he’d_ been the one to take her there. _Huh_.

“Sorry, sorry,” says Soonyoung, looking harried. “I got into a bit of a mess on the way here— hey, Youngwon-ah, did you bring me a pair of flip-flops like I asked?”

“It’s in the bag behind your chair,” Youngwon grumbles. “I don’t get why you keep asking me to bring you stuff all of the time, noona.”

“Oh, shove it,” says Soonyoung, rolling her eyes. She pulls the slippers out of the bag, then bends to take off the running shoes on her feet. “Here— sorry about that, Chan, I’ll make up for it later.”

“I told you, you could have just returned it next time,” says Chan, taking the shoes and stuffing it into the plastic bag she hands him. “I had an extra pair anyway.”

“My shoes fell into a pothole near the studio,” Soonyoung explains, ignoring her tag-along. “Chan here came to my rescue and let me borrow _his_ pair instead.”

“Oh my god,” says Minkyung. “Are you _okay_?”

“I didn’t fall in all the way, don’t worry,” says Soonyoung. “Lucky he was right behind me, ready to pull me out.”

“You should be more careful next time, noona,” says Chan. “One of these days, you’re gonna get in trouble if you don’t look where you’re going.”

“I can take care of myself perfectly well, _mom_ ,” says Soonyoung. “Now, do you want anything to drink?”

They quietly watch Soonyoung and Chan bicker as they head up to the counter, Chan resolutely begging off and Soonyoung already armed with her wallet at her side; Youngwon’s stomach is churning, unsettled, and Minkyung just looks like she’s ready to implode at any moment. Changjo, ever oblivious, turns to both of them and smiles.

“I didn’t know Soonyoung had a boyfriend,” he says. “Why don’t we pull up another chair for him?”

“ _Boyfriend_?” Minkyung hisses under her breath. “She never said anything to me!”

“That’s just Chan,” says Youngwon. “He’s someone from her org.”

“Isn’t he her boyfriend?”

“How could that be her boyfriend?” Minkyung asks, scandalized. “He looks _fifteen_.”

“He’s from her uni,” says Changjo. “He can’t be _that_ young.”

“That’s not the point,” says Minkyung, right before turning to Youngwon with a glare. “The point is, our sister has been preying on jailbait for _months_ and you haven’t said a word of it to _me_.” She digs her nails into the meat of Youngwon’s thigh, making him wince. “What happened to me being your favorite sister?”

“But she’s not dating him?” Youngwon says, wrinkling his brow. “He’s not her type.”

By which, he means, _not an idol_ , but Soonyoung comes back from the cashier, armed with a tray full of their drinks, Chan abandoned by the counter to wait for the rest of her order. Youngwon wisely chooses to wait until he’s gotten his iced coffee safely within his clutches before he turns to her and says, very innocuously, “Noona, you don’t have a boyfriend, right?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” says Soonyoung, dutifully, though she looks close to upending her drink on Youngwon’s gleeful face. She purses her lips as she turns around to look at Chan’s direction, who rolls his eyes when they lock gazes and gets a kiss blown at him in turn. “Not _yet_.”

“That’s too bad,” says Changjo, mildly disappointed. “I was so sure…”

“Honey, the only thing you’ve been sure about in your life is me,” says Minkyung, exasperated, before she finally turns to Soonyoung and none-too-subtly flashes her engagement ring in Soonyoung’s direction. “And speaking of which…”

Youngwon tunes out the excited, garbled yelling of his sisters, focusing, instead, on Chan. No, he thinks, watching Chan sneak glances at Soonyoung every so often— maybe Changjo’s got a point. Maybe Soonyoung’s not gonna end up a crazy cat lady, after all.

The thought leaves a startlingly bitter taste to his mouth. He should talk to dad about getting Soonyoung to commute home instead of renting. Potholes _are_ dangerous after all, especially when there’s strange men following her around, ready to swoop in and save her.

Being a little possessive ( _protective_ ) is a Kwon family trait, after all.


	3. the fling that should have been a friend with all the benefits and none of the baggage or strings

It starts off as a joke, nothing more, nothing less.

One minute, they’re laughing over drinks and trading horror stories from work, the next they’re kissing in the back of the bar with her fingers braced awkwardly over the front of his shirt and his hand a warm, solid mass on her hip holding her close. It’s nothing serious, just something she’d done on a whim because she’d wanted to check if he was wearing lipstick or if it was just her imagination; his tongue flicks against the seam of her lips, sucking on the jut of her lower lip, and he leaves sticky-sweet gloss all over her mouth as he presses closer.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, assessing, but they soften as she gapes at him, speechless, and wonders aloud if he’d ever kissed a man like that— his laughter is sharp but shy, like he’s flustered, like he doesn’t know how to answer her. She’s so strange, he tells her. So, so strange, it’s no wonder she’s so easy to like.

Well, she tells him, if it’s so easy, why doesn’t she have a room full of suitors lining up at her feet, waiting to indulge her every whim? And he tosses his head back in defiance and says, snidely, that she’s welcome to his own stalker, if she’d wanted— Kim Mingyu’s handsome, but not handsome enough to be worth the migraine.

If I were you, I’d marry Kim Mingyu in a heartbeat, she tells him.

Small miracles, then, that she’s not him, he says. It’s not worth the hassle to fall in love with a face that could break hearts, after all.

Like you, then? She asks, curiously.

No, he says, sharply. Nothing like me.

*

She starts calling him nicknames, coy, gag-inducing ones that make his skin crawl and his shoulders stiffen at first, only for him to eventually sigh and resign himself to his fate when Junhui joins in on the teasing.

This is why I like men more, he tells her, and she hides her laughter behind her palm, eyes twinkling and cheeks pink but promising nothing but trouble for him.

He’s her new favorite, one of the make-up artists comments, drily, as he carefully applies Junhui’s mascara. He’d do better to run away from her as soon as he can.

She threatens to throw her phone at the make-up artist’s face for scaring him away, but her words are ignored. With a sigh, she grumbles about having to hunt down her charge for a retouch, but when she passes him by, her eyes dart up to look at his lips, and her ears turn red. It’s funny how she’s so transparent, almost like a puppy— it’s too bad he’s always been more of a cat person, though, even if he finds her cute.

*

Men, though— men are wolves.

It’s what he thinks of when he lets Kim Mingyu press against him in a club the next night, when he rakes his fingers against Mingyu’s scalp as Mingyu makes a space for himself in between his thighs. Kim Mingyu is handsome and broad, so eager he’s on his knees for him like a good boy. Kim Mingyu wants him so, so much, it hurts.

But Kim Mingyu can’t give him the kind of security he needs, the stability of a certificate and the knowledge that his parents can rest easy once they see proof of a child; it’s almost mercenary, how he thinks instead of her as Kim Mingyu mounts him, fucks into him like an animal and makes him scream—

It doesn’t have to be about feelings.

*

She thinks she likes him.

It’s nothing too alarming; he’s certainly something to look at. Not devastatingly handsome like the celebrities she’s encountered at studios, but he knows how to dress well and what angles make him look good when he’s taking pictures, and he certainly has more manners than most of the men in her life.

He’s not a bad kisser, either, but that’s something she doesn’t tell Wonwoo as she recounts all the good things about him that Wonwoo _certainly_ doesn’t possess. And Wonwoo rolls his eyes and retreats into one of his infamous sulks, refusing, on principle, to pick up his stuff after himself like _he_ would, because Wonwoo’s not _him_.

I don’t see what’s so good about that guy, Wonwoo grumbles. He’s nothing but bad news.

He’s _perfect_ , she points out, and Wonwoo tells her she thinks the same way about Kim Mingyu, but they’re both probably fu— and he trails off, refusing to say anything more.

Wonwoo sits, ramrod straight, like the world would tip over if he’d so much as bent, and it reminds her so much of him, suddenly; it’s almost like she misses him.

But that can’t be, right?

Right?

*

She’s wrong about that.

*

Walk with me, he asks her under his breath when they meet again at work. No, _begs_ her, and she wants to crane her head behind her so badly, but his desperation says everything. Just, please, do me a favor—

It’s no trouble, she says, curling her fingers around his arm and pressing closer to him. I’d always wanted to try being someone else’s beard, especially if they’re hot.

He looks at her, face blank, and she almost expects him to make a snide remark about her strange tastes and her reckless ways, but he doesn’t. Have you been thinking about this for a while now? He asks her, seriously, and she’s reminded, suddenly, of Junhui’s stories of her little _baobei_ who was too gullible for jokes, who once thought that paper cranes made wishes real and every snow globe was a tiny planet with him as their little god.

She calls him by his whole name, an exasperated sigh. It’s just a joke, she assures him. I’ve got too much pride to be anyone’s fake girlfriend.

How about a fake wife? He asks her, and she pinches his side.

We have _got_ to start finding you a sense of humor, she says. You and Wonwoo should both take lessons from me.

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles; like this, it’s easy to forget the crestfallen look on Kim Mingyu’s face as he pretends not to see him, or the unimpressed frown on Jeon Wonwoo’s when he treats her to dinner as thanks.

It’s easy. It’s safe.

*

He doesn’t fuck her until after the third date.

Women are so different from men. When Kim Mingyu had been all sharp, jagged edges, demanding and piercing as he’d rutted into him with abandon, her body molds to him, welcomes the intrusion with a soft gasp and a tight grip around his cock as she rakes her nails against his back and pushes her hips up to meet his thrusts for more.

She locks her ankles round the small of his back, careful not to touch his spine; it’s almost endearing how she remembers him telling her about an old back injury that had never seemed to fully heal, but when he touches her knee to spread her apart more, she shivers, something like shock and fear flashing all at once before she collects herself and remembers.

They both have their own ghosts, he thinks, and rocks up and into her again as she settles atop him, this time; he swallows her whimpers and groans with his mouth, staining her jaw, her cheek, her lips with his mark. It’s a dance he doesn’t mind going through the motions of with her as his partner, if only to stave the lingering thoughts away.

Oh god, she says, as he feels around to stroke her belly, her thighs, her clit as they move together. Oh god, oh god, oh god, let me come, please let me come, please, please, please—

*

One time. Once is enough.

*

She has a spring to her step the next day.

Had a fun time at the event? Wonwoo asks her when she picks him up, and she flushes, pleased, as she remembers how good _he_ had looked when he’d shown up to pick her up for the museum opening in a suit, enough that she’d had no choice but to drag him inside her apartment and help him out of it instead. They’d missed the event, the tickets unused in her purse; she hopes Wonwoo hadn’t had a hard time getting them, under the pretext of her taking her brother.

You could say that, she tells Wonwoo, who just gives her a soft smile that reminds her of _his_ dazed, sleepy grin, small and shy when she’d leaned over to peck his mouth that morning.

I’m glad, Wonwoo says, and her cheerfulness must be rubbing off on him this time. I haven’t seen you this happy for a while now. You must really love museums, huh?

I guess, she says. She thinks about how he probably does— his eyes had lit up when she’d asked him out, and she’d been ready to resign herself to a long, boring evening to suffer for his indulgence. Say, do you have any more recommendations for that kinda stuff?

Oh? Wonwoo’s eyebrow raises. I thought you didn’t like my tastes?

Being a hipster’s not so bad, she says, loftily.

Welcome to the dark side, then, says Wonwoo, chuckling. Maybe next time we can go together, if you want.

Sure, she says, then an idea flashes into her mind, scheming. I’ll ask Junhui and Hao along, they might wanna take a tour around.

That’s not what I— Wonwoo scowls, suddenly robbed of any enthusiasm, and he sighs. Never mind.

Spoilsport. He’s lucky he’s got a handsome face— she would have smacked him upside the head for lesser reasons if it weren’t the reason for her growing bank account.

*

It happens again, and again, and again.

His fingers sprawl across her belly as he cradles her to his chest. There’s nothing forming there, not yet— in a year, perhaps that will change. Five years. Ten.

Do you like kids? He asks her, and she tenses, but rests her fingers against his knuckles a moment later.

I love them, she says. Do you?

I’ve always wanted kids, he says. They’re very cute.

Well, she says, giving him a coy look, aren’t you glad we’re practicing for it already?

It almost makes him feel guilty, fucking around with her like this, not when she always looks so eager to please him, so happy.

Perhaps he has a face that could break hearts, too, and no one’s just told him yet. Perhaps.

*

She’s happy. So, so happy.

Have you seen Mingyu? Jihoon asks her as he pops his head into the green room. He was supposed to be around here somewhere…

I think I saw him earlier, but he said he had to talk to his manager for something, she says, shrugging. It’s almost a waste that she doesn’t see much of Mingyu anymore, but she’s too distracted looking at her phone to notice.

Are you stalking someone again? Jihoon complains, wrinkling his nose at her. You and your fuckboys, I swear—

You’re just jealous Hao’s taller than you! She calls out to him, then goes back to looking at his IG feed.

She doesn’t care.

*

Do you think I look weird?

He looks up from reading on his tablet to peer at her face reflected in his bedroom mirror, expression pinched and displeased.

She has a face his mother would like, he thinks. Round and soft in shape, but strong features all the same; sharp eyes, pointed nose, thin lips, assessing. Like silk hiding steel, less malleable or bound to break.

He doesn’t understand why she bemoans her makeup-less face, why she’s always in a hurry to wake before him and less eager to take her makeup off when they’re about to go to bed. More than how he thinks his mother would like her face, he thinks _he_ likes her face more, loves it with an irrational fondness that he can admit that, objectively, it’s nothing special, but it’s hers, all his to keep.

He likes her face, when she’s smiling, when she’s laughing, when she’s excited. When she’s complaining about work, when she’s angry at him for letting her sleep through her alarm, when she’s crying over sad animal films and cartoon movies. It’s a face he doesn’t mind sleeping next to and waking up to, even though he’s had more beautiful ones in his bed, more suited to his tastes.

And then he wonders if he’s settling, or—

It can’t be love. Can’t.

He stands up without a word, tugs on his shoes and walks out of his apartment, even through her panicked calls of his name. He can’t breathe.

*

I don’t like this game you’re playing, Junhui tells him, face blank.

What game, he wonders, not looking up from where he’s trying to mend a slight tear in her dress.

I know you’ve been sleeping with Soonyoung, says Junhui. She’s fidgeting, the way she always does when she’s trying to be confrontational even when she’d rather run away. I know you slept with Mingyu too. What are you trying to do?

It’s nothing serious, he says, shrugging. They wanted it too, you know.

There’s a damn spot in the dress he can’t seem to stitch together, and it annoys him to look at it. He fumbles around for his sewing kit, then hisses when he nearly pricks his finger. When he looks up to look for a band aid, Junhui’s still looking at him disapprovingly, like she’s upset. What?

Are you toying with their feelings? Junhui asks.

I slept with Kim Mingyu _once_ , he says. It’s not like we’re dating. God.

And what about Soonyoung?

What about her?

Is it not serious for you too?

She’s supposed to be a means to an end, is what she is; but he doesn’t tell Junhui this, because Junhui’s so soft-hearted, she’d cry if she knew.

I don’t think we’re good for each other in the long-run, he says instead, meeting Junhui’s surprised expression head-on. Now, can you please help me find a first aid kit somewhere?

*

She lingers for five minutes behind the door. Waits for the tension to seep out and for them to talk shop again before she can find it in her chest to breathe.

Her face. It’s burning. She touches her cheek, her nose, her lips. She can feel the ghost of his mouth on her, still.

She thinks of Mingyu avoiding her, of Wonwoo’s pinched expression. Jihoon’s cagey warnings about fuckboys increasing more and more these days. Maybe she’s all wrong about him. But—

She likes him. She really, really likes him, it hurts.

*

Am I your girlfriend? She asks him when he shows up at her doorstep that night.

He looks taken aback, but he schools his expression quickly, betraying nothing with cool indifference. Are you?

No, she confesses. It doesn’t feel like it is.

Do we have to be anything? He asks. Why can’t we just enjoy each other and see how it goes?

I— She looks upset, like he’s said the wrong thing. I’m too old to fool around.

Who says I’m fooling around?

Then what are we? She challenges. Some kind of trial run?

We’re a possibility, he says. She looks unconvinced, and he plows on. I’m not trying to make you my fake girlfriend, Soonyoung.

Yeah, she says, tightly. But why does it feel like I’m becoming your fake wife?

*

She slams the door in his face. It feels good for a whole thirty seconds, until she slumps against the front door and erupts into fat, ugly tears that make her feel like she’s five again and locked in the dark.

*

They don’t see each other for a while.

He doesn’t fault her—he’d walked out on her after an unwanted epiphany, and it’s no wonder she’d want nothing more to do with him now. Perhaps she’d found out about Kim Mingyu too— if Junhui knows, then certainly other people know, and news travels fast in the industry. It’s not unlikely.

He makes plans in his head, about all the calls he’d have to make when he moves back home. Anyone in Mingyu’s burn book would most likely find themselves _persona non grata_ soon afterwards, even with his bleeding heart. And there’s nothing more damaging to his line of work than big-name celebrities not wanting to work with him. It’s fine. He’ll cope.

He packs up his things in his rented apartment methodically, clinically. Everything he needs fits in three luggage cases, the rest he could just store in Junhui’s apartment for now and the rest—

He looks at a pile of her clothes, at a toothbrush nestled between his and a pair of shoes she’d left behind before. He can’t bring himself to return it.

*

She gets sick one morning. And the next. And the next.

Jihoon takes her to a hospital. She wishes, soon after, that he hadn’t instead.

Jihoon’s mad. Her brother’s mad. Hell, even Wonwoo’s mad, he’s _fuming_ , and the white-knuckled grip he has on the steering wheel when she tells him why, exactly, she’s tendering her resignation is enough to make her burst into tears, terrified, even as his fury cracks into something a little sad, a little raw, and lets her cry on his shoulder for the rest of the afternoon.

Her father, he doesn’t know yet, but if the men in her life are a consistent pattern, then she already knows what to expect. She wants to cry. She wants to get angry. She wants to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Have you told him yet? Wonwoo asks her, as he rubs her back until her sobs turn into hiccups.

No, she says, voice sounding wet and cracked. I can’t.

Are you keeping it?

She hesitates and touches her stomach. She thinks she can feel something inside it fluttering, though it’s probably just the saltine crackers and water she’d ingested this morning. Yeah, she says. I’m keeping the baby.

Wonwoo closes his eyes, rubs the bridge of his nose. He seems to be thinking about something deeply, maybe parsing through his mental vocabulary to chew her out for what an absolute fucking idiot she is, but he surprises her when he clears his throat and offers, meekly, to help her take care of the baby if she needs it.

He looks so, so young, so open, so soft. It’s a role he’s had to play so many times, it’s no wonder it’s come so easy for him to look so comforting to her.

I can’t do that to you, she tells him. The reporters would get the wrong idea, you know?

I— Wonwoo looks mutinous, but he cracks at her sniffling, shoulders sagging like he’s given up. I don’t care about that.

Her mouth feels sour as she thinks of all the times she’s thought uncharitably about him, how she’s compared Wonwoo, more than once, in a less favorable light to everyone else. She’s sorry she couldn’t have been kinder to him. She hopes she can leave him in better hands.

You’re a good friend, Wonwoo, she says, putting on a brave face and smiling up at him through tears. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself!

You don’t have to, says Wonwoo, sadly, even as he returns her smile. He pats the top of her head, smoothing her hair down with his palm. Anyone would want to take care of you, Soonyoung.

Anyone. Huh. She rubs her stomach uncomfortably and thinks of him. She wonders if he’s thinking of her. If he wants to see her again.

*

He gets attacked by the make-up artist when he visits Junhui a week later.

He’s short, but he’s got a mean left hook— it’s only sheer skill and practice that he’s able to flip the asshole over and fend him off from clawing his face and strangling him into the next life.

They scream at each other in Junhui’s expensive suite, soundproofing doing little to stop the neighbor’s dogs from yapping at their noise, but it’s what his assailant yells at him that robs him of breath and makes him feel like he’s been sucker punched, knocked out.

So he runs.

*

It’s raining when he arrives.

He’s a walking cliché, from his sopping wet clothes to his damp hair; he looks like he’d been in a hurry, too unfocused to even think about carrying an umbrella or avoiding tracks of mud like he would have on a normal day. This stuffy, cleanliness-obsessed freak, who she’s supposed to be mad at. Instead, the sight of him fills her with dread and misery all at once, the weight bearing down on her like a sad ghost.

Is it mine? He demands, and he totters forward shakily. He looks at her face, then down to the slight bump on her stomach, before staring back at her like he’s searching for something in her eyes. Soonyoung, I—

No, she says, curtly. Her throat is locked up tight, like the slightest waver would cause the dam to break and the feelings to overflow again. It’s Kim fucking Mingyu’s, what do you think?

Ah, he says. So you knew about that.

Of course I did, she says. I heard you talking about it with Junhui!

When— He trails off, then understanding crosses his eyes, before tapering off into something more apologetic. So you heard.

Yeah, she says. Tight. Her throat should be tight. But it’s just choked up now, sad and heaving. Maybe you’ve got a point. Maybe we’re all wrong for each other.

She takes a step back, then looks at the messy state of her living room. I don’t like cleaning. You get irritated when I leave my shit everywhere at your place. I don’t like it when you stock up on more wine than food. You hate the music I listen to most of the time. I want a dog. You want a cat. I can’t speak Chinese! Your mother would hate me! It would never work out.

But she would love him through all the little fights, all the cross words exchanged. It’s no joke, not like the first time— she’s been serious about him longer than she’d thought she’d be.

Don’t cry, he tells her. He raises a hand tentatively, before cupping her cheek and thumbing away her tears. It hurts here— he says, taking her hand to rest against his chest, his mind a clumsy whirl unable to find the right words to say for once. It’s breaking my heart.

I wish I’d never asked you if you were wearing lipstick that night, she says. I didn’t know you’d break my heart instead.

I’m sorry, he says. You deserve more than to be someone’s fake wife.

But I would have been okay with being your fake wife if I had all of you forever, she thinks, sadly. She would have been fine with losing all the arguments and learning another language and getting a cat and suffering through homesickness if it meant she’d have him.

I wish you’d marry me, though, he tells her, softly; his eyes are glassy, now, and he looks at her so tenderly it makes something in her ache. Please— let me try to make you happy.

She hesitates, and he raises her hand to his lips, pressing the softest and tiniest of worshipful kisses on her skin. Inside, she thinks she can feel something kick, even though it shouldn’t at this stage. How strange. It makes her cry harder, even as she sobs quietly, terrified and out of sorts. She’s so, so scared.

Okay, she says, hoarsely, when she finally runs out of tears. I’ll marry you. For the baby.

For the baby, he agrees, but when he rests his palms on her hips and kisses her so, so sweetly, she wonders how much of it is true.

*

Xu Minghao is the perfect father, the best for any child that she could have imagined in his place. He loves their daughters so ferociously, no man is ever good enough for any of them, not for their perfect little _baobei_ s. A fool for them, and they for him, equally— she thinks they get that from her, if nothing else. Her one weakness, among her faults.

She doesn’t know if he’s a better husband than anyone else she knows, but he comes close, she thinks, as he kisses her good night every day for the rest of her life. He presses a kiss to her forehead, then to her eyelids, her cheek, her mouth, worshipful. He looks at her, softly, like she’d crack under the lightest touch even after she bears him children that look and act everything like he does and so little like her.

He’s the only one she knows in this life, after all. There’s no comparison.


	4. the hot actress that likes cute, tiny things

“I think I like girls more now.”

Soonyoung makes this announcement while she’s trying to spread kaya jam all over her toast— Minghao’s been itching to ask someone from the wait staff to do it or even just himself, but the hotel buffet’s far too crowded with press and onlookers hovering over the celebrities in their headcount for anyone to bother much with the rest of the production staff. And anyway, Minghao likes this spot he’s carved out for himself, strategically hidden behind a pillar and a bunch of potted plants enough for Mingyu to not eagerly bound over and shamelessly invite himself for breakfast. He’d been looking forward to half an hour of peace before going back to the humid location they’re filming in for the day, making his shirt stick to his sweaty back after even just ten minutes of being laid out under the sun. He’s going to need more than an iced drink and an umbrella to get through the day without wanting to snap or strangle anyone more than necessary, and he’s not sure it’ll go over well with the director if he manages to crack and jump Mingyu in the process. (He thinks.)

Minghao doesn’t mind Soonyoung as much—she’s tamer in comparison to Mingyu’s constant attempts to play footsie with him under the table at least, but it’s all becoming a moot point now that Soonyoung has, apparently, come to an epiphany about her sexuality that Minghao’s not very keen on scrutinizing without at least two cups of caffeine injected into his system. He stares at the black coffee in the standard porcelain cups from the buffet, then wishes he’d had the foresight to get three more before investigating the pasta selection. “You’ve always liked girls,” says Minghao. “Didn’t you just say that you wanted to put your hand up Junhui’s robe after yesterday’s scene?”

“I _know_ ,” Soonyoung wallows, eyes alight at the memory of Junhui’s love scene with Mingyu. “Where did you even _find_ those stockings? They looked so good on her!”

“Magic,” says Minghao, though the real answer is Taobao. It’s a blessing Junhui can make anything look good— no one needs to know the actual price point of her entire seduction outfit is actually the equivalent of two value meals at a fast food restaurant, really.

Not like Soonyoung even cares. She’s too busy fantasizing about Junhui, apparently. Minghao curses the day Junhui went through puberty and discovered the magic of cosplay. “Her thighs looked so soft, I just wanted to lick them,” Soonyoung bemoans, cupping her flustered cheeks with her palms. “And her breasts! That cleavage! I wish I had a dick so she could give me a boob job.”

“Um,” says Minghao, just as he catches Junhui’s eye from across the buffet section and sees her pleased smile widen at the sight of the two of them. “Hold that thought.”

Soonyoung ignores him, still caught up in her raptures. “And her lips were so plump, I was so _mad_ at Mingyu when he didn’t draw out the kiss scene! If I were him, I would have felt her up a bit more— all those curves in front of him, and _nothing_! He didn’t even get hard!”

“I’d imagine it would be difficult for him to get hard,” says Minghao, awkwardly. “There’s a lot of people on set.” And Minghao. But Minghao refuses to even _think_ about that, because then he’d have to confront some very uncomfortable truths about his (non-existent!) relationship with his personal stalker.

“Next time Wonwoo has a sex scene with her, I’ll have to ask him how her skin feels,” says Soonyoung.

“Please don’t,” says Minghao, suddenly feeling very sympathetic for Soonyoung’s poor, beleaguered charge. He’s not surprised if Wonwoo adamantly refuses to take on any projects with Junhui anymore once he gets it into his head that Soonyoung’s feelings for Junhui are, apparently, less than platonic and proper anymore. He wouldn’t be able to win against that.

“Please don’t what?” Junhui booms from behind Soonyoung, making Soonyoung jump a little in her seat and let out a surprised shriek, and Junhui laughs, pressing a fond kiss to the top of her head before setting her tray full of pastries and sweets down. “Can I join you two? I bring gifts for my two most favorite people.”

“Two?” Soonyoung squeaks, pink-cheeked and flustered. Junhui leans over to attempt to kiss Minghao hello too, but when he bats her away with an irritated scowl, she redirects all her efforts into pressing up against Soonyoung and nuzzling her cheek against Soonyoung’s shoulder.

“Never mind, you’re my only favorite now, Soonyoungie,” says Junhui, pouting at Minghao. “You’re the only one who accepts my love around here.”

Soonyoung’s stiff as a board beside Junhui, and if she were a guy, Minghao has no doubt she’d be sporting a hard-on by now. He’s suffered through that phase during their teenage years before he realized anything and everything turned him on at that age, and it was _not_ a great experience. “That’s nice,” says Soonyoung, woodenly, a strained smile plastered over her face even as her eyes scream PANIC. SEND HELP. The side of Junhui’s ample bosom brushes up against her arm, and Minghao can see a little of Soonyoung’s brain cells die, bit by bit.

“Not everyone’s as affectionate as you are,” says Minghao, in an effort to distract Junhui from making Soonyoung’s head implode. “Say, Soonyoung-noona, I think Wonwoo-hyung’s looking for you.”

Soonyoung looks torn between murder and disappointment when Junhui extracts herself from Soonyoung’s side, scooting her chair back to make space for Soonyoung. “Oh dear,” says Junhui. “Wonwoo’s always such a handful to deal with.”

“You have no idea,” says Soonyoung, rolling her eyes.

“I keep telling you, you should just switch with Jisoo-oppa and be my manager,” says Junhui. “We can have so much fun together!”

“Fun, haha, right,” says Soonyoung, although from the way her eyes flicker from Junhui’s lips to her body, Minghao’s not entirely sure they’re on the same page. “I’ll see you guys later?”

“See you on set,” Junhui trills. “I’ll be in a bikini, so come look for me and help me put on sunblock, okay, Soonyoung?”

Soonyoung lets out a garbled croak that sounds like a cross between agreement and “I’m gonna die”. Minghao’s betting on the latter, though he waits until Soonyoung’s out of earshot before giving Junhui a disapproving frown.

“You shouldn’t lead her on like that,” says Minghao. “She’s very susceptible to suggestion, you know.”

“I left my room key in her bag for her to ‘accidentally find’,” says Junhui, serenely, as she nibbles on a marzipan. “How long do you think it’ll take her to realize it’s mine before paying a visit?”

“Oh god,” says Minghao. He really should have fucking known. “What are you planning this time?”

“I’m just trying to get on her good side,” says Junhui. “I have a vested interest in her, Hao Hao.”

“Is it still about that make-up artist you’re mooning over?”

“They’re childhood friends, you know,” says Junhui, batting her eyelashes. “What are the odds they’d be open to a threesome?”

“Please stop,” says Minghao.

“You’re no fun, Minghao,” says Junhui, laughing, but doesn’t make any promises.

*

He’s not surprised when he sees Soonyoung emerging from Junhui’s room the next morning, flustered and looking like she’s been mauled by an animal all over; she looks embarrassed and apologetic all at once as she tries to extract promises for him not to tell _anyone_ , especially Jihoon, and he sends her out after fixing her makeup and her clothes for her, torn between fondness and irritation.

It’s a feeling he carries as he looms over Junhui’s sleepy, post-fuck form with his arms crossed over his chest. When she raises her head up and asks for a cup of tea sweetly, though, he just sighs and throws a towel at Junhui’s naked body sprawled out on the queen-sized bed. She’s equally marked up by hickeys that need to be covered up by ounces of concealer and might warrant more outfit changes than he’d planned, and he curses Soonyoung in his head again and again for falling into her trap, hook, line and sinker.

“I hope you regret everything right now, because if she ends up blabbing to her friends, you’re going to have more than one person ready to kill you,” says Minghao.

“I’m not worried about Wonwoo,” says Junhui, lazily. “Jihoonie might get mad, but I could always convince him to try out new things. He’ll definitely want to keep an eye on her around me, wouldn’t he?”

“You’re so transparent,” says Minghao. How is everyone so blind?

“Variety is the spice of life,” says Junhui. “Maybe if you let Mingyu finally fuck you, you’ll get that stick out of your ass, Hao Hao.”

“You are a terrible person,” Minghao reminds her, and Junhui yawns and stretches but doesn’t budge from her nest of blankets and pillows.

“She likes getting pegged, you know,” Junhui informs him, looking especially pleased. “Maybe I’ll buy a strap-on just for her next time.”

“ _Terrible_ ,” Minghao repeats, and gets to work cleaning up her mess, with or without her manager involved.

It’s always been his job since they were teenagers, after all— he’ll always be there to watch out for her, even if she thinks she’s got everything under control.

He just hopes Jihoon or Wonwoo watch out for Soonyoung too.


	5. the man of her (mother’s) dreams

The after-party’s in full swing by the time anyone finds him.

He’s nursing a lukewarm glass of wine in one hand and scrolling mindlessly through his phone on the other; the wine’s mostly untouched, more of a reason to ward off passing servers than anything else, but he thinks his agency would be proud of him for managing not to drink his weight for the night, only to make the headlines for something _other_ than an award the next morning. If nothing else, he’s got his manager on call with the car, just to be safe.

He’s toying with the idea of calling and heading out when someone approaches him from behind, heels clacking on the cemented patio loudly. He readies himself for a biting comment when he feels tentative fingers touching his elbow, but when he turns around, the words get lost in his throat, stuck; whatever maudlin thoughts he’d had, they’re dampened now by the light buzzing in his mind, making his skin feel sensitized through the fabric of his suit.

“Soonyoung,” he says, his lips twitching, aching to curve up into a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve still got friends in high places,” she brags, even as she gives him a tentative smile. “Having a nice night so far, Mr. Bigshot?” She asks, curling an arm around his, braver this time.

A lump forms in his throat at her nearness, and he swallows it down before he can do something stupid like kiss her under the night sky. “Better now that you’re here,” he says, honestly.

She looks up at him through her lashes, eyes crinkling as a grin starts to form on her painted mouth. “Very smooth,” she says, tone teasing. “Looks like that drama taught you well. There’s hope for you yet, Jeon Wonwoo.”

“It’s 100% original,” he says. “I’m a very honest man.”

She laughs like she doesn’t believe him, and that same ache settles in his chest, familiar. That same want.

“Keep talking like that and you’ll be in trouble,” she says. “My husband’s a very jealous man.”

“Your husband’s a saint,” he says. He looks down at her ring finger, longing to clasp onto her hands, suddenly; he keeps his fingers curled around his phone instead. “He deserves an award for putting up with you.”

“He’s already gotten one,” she jokes, and releases his arm to step away and observe the sprawling ivy across the garden walls. Already, he misses her closeness. Her warmth. “Speaking of which— congratulations on your win. I always knew you’d get the Best Actor award, one way or another.”

“Thank you,” he says. He thinks about all those times they’d run through lines together in the car or in the green room, Soonyoung’s feet propped up on his lap and her back supported by their bags. She’d always tried to kick him in the face every time he tickled her sole with his fingers; her fury was quick to assuage, temporary in the face of his backhanded apologies. In some ways, he’d thought she was soft for him as he was for her. The first time he’d kissed her, he’d known better— there was no comparison.

The reminder of it makes something in his chest clench, tightly. He looks at the back of her head, hair done up in a messy bun, strands of which lay artfully behind the shell of her ear. He wants to come closer, to crowd against her and press searing kisses across her nape. Her neck. He wants to breathe in the scent of her and memorize it forever.

“Was it as great as you’d thought it would be?” Her voice cuts through the quiet, the sound of music and conversation muted in the distance. She turns around to look at him again, and the pearls across her neck and ears do little to dampen the brightness of her eyes.

“It was…” He thinks of what to say, tries to form into words the well of disappointment that he’d carried like a cloak as he’d shared the stage with no one. “It was an experience,” he says instead, and wonders if she knows it’s no longer the award he’s thinking of now.

She steps closer to enfold him in her arms, squeezing him tightly as laughter bubbles up again in her throat and out of her mouth. “I’m so happy for you, Wonwoo,” she says. “You’re finally one step closer to all of your dreams.”

“Yeah,” he says, willing his voice not to shake. His eyes. They’re misty, now, and she’s a blur. “God, I hope I am.”

*

They head back inside, Soonyoung in search of capers and a glass of water. “I’m not supposed to drink anymore,” she says, after turning down the fifth server offering her champagne. At his curious look, her cheeks turn pink and she pats her stomach. “Oh, don’t make me say it.”

He almost regrets asking, so he looks around and tries to divert her attention to other things instead. “Have you seen Mingyu or Junhui yet?”

“I saw Mingyu earlier when I was catching up with Minghao,” she says. “And Junhui— I didn’t know she and Jihoonie were expecting their second baby!”

“Jihoon hadn’t told you yet?”

“Well, it’s hard to talk to him these days, what with the whole reality show they’re doing and—you know— time zones and stuff, but it’s whatever,” she says, waving her hand like it’s nothing. “It’s still weird for me to see them together sometimes, you know?”

“I know,” he says. “They’ve been together for so long, but my brain still refuses to process it.”

“Remember when we were trying to come up with crazy schemes to get them together? Turns out they’d already been dating behind our backs, those assholes!” Soonyoung shakes her head. Another lock of hair falls out of place, and his fingers twitch at his side to fix it. He stares at the ceiling, looking away. “All that hard work for nothing.”

He wouldn’t say it was for nothing— she’d enjoyed directing all her energies into making her friends happy, and he— well. He liked seeing her happy, most of all. He’d been so focused on monopolizing all her time and attention like a spoiled child, and his love for her then seems to him now as an immature sprout, hungry for water when all there’d been was a desert. He wonders now if he’d done any growing up; when her eyes soften at his expression, it still feels like the first time. Like it had never grown past that thirst.

“Don’t look so sad, Wonwoo-yah,” she says. “It’s a happy night.”

“It’s the nostalgia hitting me,” he lies. “You know how it is— the older we get, the harder it is to shake it off.”

“You’re still harder on yourself than anyone else,” she says. “I wish you’d take more breaks. God only knows you deserve it.”

“Have you been monitoring me all this time?”

“I’ll always look at you even if I’m not your manager anymore,” she says, honestly. She smiles at him, shy and tremulous at the edges. “You’ve got a face that makes it hard to look away.”

He thinks of a time when he’d woken up to her face every morning, when he’d been the one that couldn’t avert his eyes; and then, when the lines between work and love had started to blur, they couldn’t stand to look at each other anymore when it hurt too much. Right now, he wishes he could be brave and whisper apologies into her mouth; he’d let them escape from his lips when she hadn’t been around to listen to them, not anymore, no.

It still stings.

“You’ve always been a sucker for pretty faces,” he says, keeping his tone light.

She raises her glass of water to tip against his wine glass, a toast of what, he doesn’t know. “You know me so well,” she says.

He looks at her manicured nails, at the dress she wears that he has no recollection of. He wonders if he still does.

“Do you wanna dance?” He asks her, holding out his hand. Her eyes light up, and whatever pang of fear he’s carried dampens at the knowledge that whatever it is that’s changed, some things still stay the same.

“Of course,” she says, and sneaks a mischievous glance at his two left feet, “but _I’m_ leading this time.”

*

They’ve only danced together three times before.

The first was when he’d practiced for a variety show and she’d taught him the choreography to an idol group’s song— that had ended a spectacular failure for him, but provided her endless amusement from the many memes netizens came up with that he hadn’t the heart to get angry about his torn image.

The second was at her older sister’s wedding. She’d shown up with him as her plus one just to show up her sister, but that had backfired spectacularly on her when he’d kept stepping at her toes whenever they’d danced. She’d bemoaned not making him take lessons and forced him to massage her feet for weeks after the wedding, and a small, secret part of him had regretted causing her pain enough that he’d signed up for ballroom dancing classes without her knowledge, just in case he’d have use for it in the future. And he did.

The third time, she’d put on something slow and romantic on the radio while she’d been cooking breakfast for both of them, and he’d taken her into his arms and let her press her cheek to his shoulder, their bodies swaying together long after the music had stopped. She’d felt so soft and small in his embrace, tender and too precious to let go of; he wanted to kiss her again and again until she was his, all his.

Now, there’s a respectable distance between as they dance together in a waltz, the lessons finally of some use to him how many years later. “I didn’t know you knew how to dance now,” she teases him. “What other surprises do you have up your sleeve?”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he says. “You’ll have to see my updated CV for my skillset.”

“As if you still need to hand it out for casting calls,” she scoffs. “You’ve probably got everyone falling all over themselves just to get your attention.”

“No,” he says, as she turns in place. “Not everyone that matters.”

“Don’t run yourself ragged,” she reminds him. “We’re not that young anymore, you know. You need to go home more often!”

“I’m married to the job,” he says. “Work _is_ home.”

“That’s a sad way of looking at it.”

“You were like that too, before.”

“Yeah,” she says. The light in the ballroom catches on her ring finger, and it twinkles at him, brightly. “It’s almost funny how everything’s so different now.”

“You could always come back to work for me,” he jokes.

She presses her palm to his cheek, tenderly, before pinching at him like they’re twenty-five and she’s punishing him for something stupid he’s said. “Only a crazy person would say yes to your proposal,” she says.

It’s no wonder she hadn’t.

*

The set finishes and they separate. Soonyoung’s cheeks are pink from exertion, and her hair’s even more of a mess now, but she looks achingly lovely all the same. He opens his mouth to try to tell her this, but the words don’t come out. Strange.

Someone calls her name, in the distance; he sees a sharp-dressed figure, a clean-cut, handsome man with kind eyes and lips pursed in amusement, like a cat’s. The hand he raises to wave at them is white and slender, and something glitters on his ring finger. It’s too late for Wonwoo to avert his eyes, and the flushed, giddy expression on Soonyoung’s face is something he takes a picture of in his mind’s eye, to be savored for later.

“Looks like Jisoo-oppa’s done talking to Minghao,” she says. “Do you wanna come over and catch up with him?”

“No,” he says, woodenly. “It’s fine. I have to call my manager soon.”

“Okay,” she says. She steps closer to press a kiss to his cheek, a stray lock of hair tickling his jaw. “I’ll tell my husband you said hi.”

Husband. Strange. He can’t erase it from his mind. “Yeah,” he says. “Congratulations on the baby.”

“Thank you,” she says. “It was nice seeing you again, Wonwoo. Come visit us when you’re in America— or maybe next time, I can call you?”

She doesn’t, not for a long while. It’s fine. He’s made his peace in that wedding hall when he’d watched her dance with her husband for the first time, or when she’d turned him down, very gently, when he’d cried and asked her what went wrong; why he wasn’t enough.

He loves her, and she doesn’t love him anymore. That’s all there is to it.

It’s enough.


	6. the brat she ends up marrying

It’s the crying that makes Soonyoung put her spoon down.

She’s camped out in the kitchen armed with a tub full of ice cream and the largest bottle of peanut butter she could unearth from the pantry when it happens. She should have been sleeping around this time, but the hunger pangs and the baby squashing her bladder had been enough incentive for her to get up from the warmth of the bed and Wonwoo’s arms and head off to pee and forage for food, in that order; even if she hadn’t been able to resist the call of nature, Wonwoo’s restless squirming would have been enough to wake anyone up. She’d left him in bed muttering something about Minghao and babies, and not even the quick kiss she’d pressed to his face had been enough to smooth out the wrinkle of his brow. Weirdo.

She rubs at her belly, sighing as she gingerly pushes her weight off of the stool. The wailing gets louder now, enough to make Pompom restlessly whine and skirt around her legs, urging her to follow, and she huffs and nudges Pompom’s side with her toe to calm her down. The now-empty gallon of ice cream she leaves on the countertop, hopefully to be washed by Wonwoo tomorrow; she’ll just whine and complain about her aching back from the baby he’d put into her, never mind that it had been a shared effort— Wonwoo never really complains much whenever she does.

It’s with some effort that she makes her way back to the bedroom, but not before checking in on the twins in their bedroom. Bongsun’s fast asleep, drooling all over his pillow, but she catches Bongki still gaming on his laptop, headphones fixed firmly on his ears and lips pursed in concentration, a hobby he’d picked up from his father that she still doesn’t understand. She raps at the doorframe loud enough to catch his attention, then mimes at an imaginary clock on her wrist and a slashing motion at her neck to convey what, exactly, she’d do to him if he doesn’t go to sleep, but he just rolls his eyes and pauses his game.

“I can’t sleep, mom,” he complains. “Dad came in here a few minutes ago with crazy eyes, and now he’s bothering Soojin.” He looks at her with narrowed eyes. “What are _you_ doing up?”

“Feeding your baby brother,” she says, and Bongki wrinkles his nose. He’s still at that stage where he’s in denial his parents are still happily in love enough to appreciate each other in bed and out of it, though Soonyoung doesn’t know how anyone could sleep in the same bed as Wonwoo and _not_ jump him— growing older has definitely been kind to him, for sure.

The wailing grows louder, and Soonyoung sighs. It sounds like an angry, hungry wail, and not the kind that Wonwoo could readily fix with all the milk bottles still unwashed and unsterilized in the sink. “And, apparently, your little sister.”

“Want me to get her something to drink?” Bongki asks, brows furrowed; Bongsun snores, slumbering on, impervious to his younger sister as ever.

“It’s fine,” says Soonyoung, waving him away. “I can take care of it. Just go to sleep.”

“Ten minutes?” Bongki haggles.

He pouts up at her, and she melts; she’s always been a sucker for handsome faces, and Bongki’s gotten his father’s best features, whether he appreciates it or not.

“One round and it’s lights off after,” Soonyoung warns. “I’m hiding the router if I catch you still awake.”

“Love you too, mom,” says Bongki, blowing her a kiss before turning back to his game and ignoring her. She shakes her head at him, at a loss for words; she wonders where he gets it from, really.

She peers into the nursery and finds it empty of her husband and daughter, the crib left unlatched and Soojin’s baby blanket gone from the interior. The wailing tapers off into hiccups and soft weeping, and by the time she hobbles over to their bedroom, Soojin’s sniffling against Wonwoo’s chest, comforted by his hand stroking her back and his whispers of sweet nothings into the top of her head. Not for the first time, Soonyoung’s struck dumb by how much she loves them both— her stomach churns, aflutter, and not just from all the ice cream.

“Haven’t we talked about letting the baby get used to her own room?” Soonyoung teases, leaning against the door frame, and Wonwoo looks at her, saying nothing. Even in the dim light of the lamp by side of their bed, Soonyoung can see the exhaustion in his eyes, the faintest hint of mist clouding his red-rimmed eyes. Whatever his nightmare was, it must have been pretty bad.

“Here,” she says, sighing and creeping closer to both of them, “let me take her.”

Wonwoo doesn’t let go of Soojin easily, arms coming up to hold her tighter on reflex, but Soojin fusses at the sound of her mother and turns to her, whining. Soonyoung takes Soojin from Wonwoo, letting Soojin nuzzle at her chest as she settles on her side of the bed; she lets Wonwoo touch her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, before pushing her robe aside to free her breast.

“There, there,” Soonyoung coos, stroking the back of Soojin’s head, covered with wispy strands of hair. Soojin huffs and noses around for something to latch on, before sucking greedily once she’s found her objective. “Poor thing. Daddy woke you up, didn’t he?”

Wonwoo snuggles up against her, pressing a kiss to her nape and lingering there, the way he always does when he’s feeling particularly needy. “You were gone when I woke up.”

“I needed a snack,” says Soonyoung. With a groan, she tries to move Soojin to a more comfortable position, one that hopefully doesn’t kill all the feeling in her right arm. “Jeeze, she’s getting heavier every day. I swear, it’s like I’m feeding twins all over again.”

“I don’t remember them being this hungry all the time.”

“You’ve probably sucked all of it out before they could squeeze me dry,” she says, teasing, and Wonwoo kisses her neck again, sensually this time, and props his fingers down on her sides.

“You taste good,” he mumbles, sounding shy despite the way he strokes her hip.

“No funny business in front of the baby,” Soonyoung warns, even as she shivers.

“It’s what helped make her in the first place,” Wonwoo counters with a soft laugh.

“Whatever,” says Soonyoung, feeling her face turn hot like she’s thirty all over again and Wonwoo’s asked her to sit on his face for the first time ever without warning. “Just go to sleep.”

Wonwoo’s hand crosses her hip to rest on her swollen belly this time, twining his legs around hers as he spoons her. “Don’t wanna,” he whines, nosing at her ear. “I’ve been having back-to-back nightmares. It’s terrifying.”

“Oh, really?” She says. “I was having a pretty good dream before you woke me up with your racket…”

“I woke you up?” He asks, and she doesn’t need to look at him to know he looks like a sad kitten waiting out in the rain at the epiphany.

“It’s fine,” she says, hastily tipping her head up to kiss his jaw. “I needed to pee anyway.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He hides his face in the crux of her neck and shoulder, holding onto her tightly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“We would have woken up anyway if Soojin did,” she reminds him. He doesn’t say anything, just squeezes her again, and she wonders how bad the nightmares must have been if he’s extra clingy today.

She doesn’t press him, though; he’ll pull himself out of his funk after a while— he always does. She figures he just needs to feel grounded for now, and if she and Soojin can keep him anchored and safe from the bad parts, well— anything for Wonwoo, really.

She tries not to feel _too_ annoyed, though, when Wonwoo wakes her up again half an hour later, just as Soojin’s curled up fast asleep against her chest and Soonyoung herself is drifting off into dreamland. “Soonyoung,” he whispers, urgently. “ _Soonyoung_.”

“What?” She mutters, longing to elbow him for disturbing her rest. “What is it this time?”

Wonwoo’s silent for a while, and Soonyoung thinks he’s fallen asleep, but her wishes prove to be futile when he asks her, “If we weren’t married, who do you think you’d be with?”

Soonyoung gives into the longing, nudging Wonwoo’s side. “ _Seriously_? _That’s_ what’s bothering you?”

“I had a bunch of bad dreams, okay!” Wonwoo grouses. “You were gonna move in with Seungcheol-hyung, and then you were dating Chan, and _Minghao_ knocked you up—”

“What the fuck?”

“And Junhui was plotting on using you to convince Jihoon into a threesome, and then you married Jisoo-hyung after we broke up and moved to America without me,” Wonwoo finishes, keeping his eyes firmly shut and holding onto her so tightly Soonyoung wants to kick him. He’s shaking all over, though, and it’s enough to dampen Soonyoung’s murderous tendencies enough for her to feel pity, exasperation, and fondness all at once.

Just a bit, though. She still wants to smack him upside the head.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” she blurts out, glaring up at him. “Wonwoo, we have three kids, and another on the way. We’ve been married for as long as the twins have been alive. Most of the people you’ve just mentioned are either gay or _taken_. I am _not_ interested in them.”

“But—” Wonwoo doesn’t look completely convinced, and Soonyoung huffs, reminding herself to keep her voice low for Soojin.

“I _love_ you, you dumbass, and if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here, so stop worrying and just let me sleep. Please.”

Wonwoo’s lower lip trembles, and he opens his mouth to say more but Soonyoung stops him with a kiss. Another. And another. Harder, this time, just to keep him quiet.

“If Soojin weren’t here and I weren’t too tired to move, I’d ride you to shut you up,” she says, panting as they break apart. His eyes widen but Soojin’s snuffling reins him in, and he looks at her with bitten-red lips and a soft expression that makes Soonyoung feel warm and fuzzy inside simultaneously.

And ridiculously horny, but that’s neither here nor there. She loosens her grip on the front of his shirt and tries to calm her raging hormones by closing her eyes, shielding herself away from the tempting call of his damn mouth.

“ _Sleep_ ,” she insists, pinching his side.

“Okay,” Wonwoo eventually mumbles obediently, and she settles back into his arms, content. He kisses the top of her head, worshipful and adoring, always, always so adoring, and sighs. “I love you, Soonyoung-ah.”

*

Seconds later, he can’t help himself:

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo whispers, low voice sleepy and full of feeling, “if I lose you someday—”

“I’ll keep all the kids and marry Jisoo-oppa instead,” she grumbles, pressing a long-suffering kiss to his mouth. “Good _night_ , Wonwoo-yah.”


End file.
